


Where Home Is

by Legorandia



Series: Dear Avery [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst and Feels, Family Issues, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Other, also Hawke and Anders have a daughter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 18:18:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9837323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legorandia/pseuds/Legorandia
Summary: The Circle is gone, and Hawke and Anders are able to live in relative freedom using their magic to help their neighbors. One day a woman comes from another village looking for aid, and the home that she takes them to is unsettlingly familiar.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write this for a while now, on top of a bunch of other things I want to write about Anders and Avery Hawke, so of course I start with this which is pretty much the end of the story, set several years after the Exalted Council. 
> 
> [Some Avery Hawke art here.](http://legoprime.tumblr.com/tagged/avery-hawke) He's nonbinary and uses he/him pronouns, alternates between being Anders' husband or wife depending on the day, and is "mother" to their daughter.

“There you go, love. Good as new.”

The little girl sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve as Anders leaned down to gently kiss her knee, where the skin was soft and tender and freshly mended. Leanne had been running down the road and had tripped on a rock, tearing her dress and bloodying her knee. She’d put on a brave face and hadn’t cried at all, at least not until Anders had summoned a gentle cascade of water to rinse away the dirt from the wound.

She was all patched up now though, and if he could get her changed into fresh clothes before Hawke saw her he would never need to know it had happened. If only magic could mend skirts, Anders thought wistfully as he gathered his still teary daughter into his arms, rolling to his feet and starting down the road that led back home. Leanne wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face into his shoulder, the absolute picture of sadness, but Anders knew she was peering out under his chin to watch the butterflies that were fluttering around in the grass to one side of the path.

They were almost home when Anders heard the cry from the village.

“Healer!! Please, I need the healer!”

Frowning Anders changed course, following the road further into town, for as much as Whiteridge could be considered a town. There were only a few stores and barely fifty people living there, in straw roofed cottages and farms scattered across hillside.

It didn’t take him long to spot where the cry was coming from. There was a woman he’d never seen before in the middle of what counted as the square, blonde hair falling out of the hurried bun she had tied it in and a distressed look on her face. Several of the villagers had stopped around her, and one appeared to be questioning why she thought she would find a healer with them.

“Please, my father is ill.” She pleaded. “Everyone says you have the best healer outside of the College. I don’t care if he’s a mage, just…”

“And who is this everyone?” The man in front of her asked suspiciously. Anders knew him—Thom Bandar, his family lived down the street from him and Hawke. Anders had helped his wife through a bout of cholera last spring.

“My neighbor Suzette said he saved her son from pneumonia a few years back.” The woman said. She looked exhausted, like she’d been on her feet for days. “Please, I’ve asked everywhere. I need him to help my father!”

“What’s wrong with your father?” Anders approached slowly as all eyes turned his direction. Thom gave him a concerned look.

“Serah…”

“It’s alright, Thom.” Anders assured him. Stopping several yards away he coaxed Leanne down from his hip, setting her on her feet where she promptly latched onto his leg, eyeing the stranger who was now staring at him with hopeful caution.

“Are you the healer…?” She asked. He nodded and she just about ran to him, stopping herself just a few feet away. “My father, he’s very sick, hasn’t been able to get out of bed in weeks. For the last two days he’s barely woken up at all!”

“What is your name?” Anders asked with a soft, reassuring smile.

“Liesl.”

“Why don’t you come with me, Liesl, and tell me everything.”

They walked together back in the direction Anders had come from, Leanne clinging to his hand and skipping down the road, seemingly entirely recovered from her earlier accident. As they walked Liesl told him about her family—they lived on a farm in a village a day’s journey to the west, just her father and her own family after her mother had passed away several years earlier. She had no siblings but did have a husband and several young children who were watching over the ailing man while she went looking for help.

“I need you to understand that if I do come with you I may be able to save his life, but if he’s very elderly it will only be buying time.” Anders said carefully, stopping outside of his front door. “He could still pass on in another year or so.”

Liesl looked stricken by that, but she still nodded, taking in a deep breath. “That… that’s fine. I just want as much time as you can give me.”

Anders offered her a smile and a nod. “I understand. Here, you look about ready to fall off of your feet, why don’t you come in and rest a bit and we can discuss the trip.”

“Anders…!” A warm voice called out, drawing their attention to a rather fit individual who had just turned the corner of the house. He was shirtless and wielding an axe over one shoulder, flushed and shining with sweat, his long greying hair falling down his back in a braid.

As he approached his eyes slid down to Leanne, and he frowned. “What happened to Leanne’s dress?”

“Of _course_ that’s the first thing you notice.” Anders shook his head with a small laugh. “She just fell. She’s fine.”

“Ma…!” Leanne let go of Anders’ hand to run to him, and he set the axe down and crouched to haul her up into his arms.

“My poor baby…!” He cooed at her, giving her a hug before finally turning his attention to the woman standing with them. Anders cleared his throat.

“Liesl, this is Avery Hawke, my…” There was a slight pause as Anders seemed to contemplate, taking in Hawke’s appearance before making a decision. “…husband.” Hawke offered an approving smile as Anders met his gaze. “Love, Liesl came over from another village to get help for her father. It’s a day’s walk.”

“Ah, roadtrip then?” Hawke pushed open the door to their modest home, setting Leanne back on her feet inside and retrieving the shirt he’d removed earlier before going out to chop wood, tugging it over his head. “Maybe old Macelroy will let us borrow a couple of horses. I don’t fancy carrying Lea all that way, and she definitely can’t walk that far.”

“You know you don’t have to come, Avery.” Anders told him, offering a chair to Liesl before preparing some tea in a mug for her. The kettle was always on the fire so it was just a matter of mixing the hot water with herbs. “I would only be gone for a couple of days.”

“No.” Hawke stated in a tone that allowed no argument. “You know there are still people out there who disagree with the Divine’s decision to pardon you. I promised I’d never leave your side again, and I meant it.”

“I… I’m sorry, did you just say the _Divine_ …?” Liesl stammered, her exhausted eyes wide as their conversation filtered over to her. “What… who are you exactly…?”

Hawke offered her a smile. “Oh, just a couple of troublemakers, don’t mind us. This guy though…” He patted Anders on the shoulder. “He’s the best healer you’ll ever meet. I’m just his bodyguard.”

“You’re more than that.” Anders smiled as he finished preparing the tea for their guest.

Old Macelroy was more than willing to let them borrower a couple of his mares (Anders had helped his son when he’d fallen from a beam and broken his clavicle two seasons ago) which would cut their travel time in half. They decided to start fresh the next morning, giving Liesl a place to sleep by the hearth and getting up bright and early the next day to head out.

Leaving home was always both a refreshing and concerning thing for Hawke and Anders. It seemed as though it had been so long since they’d had a home to leave—so many years on the run, and then later held up at Weishaupt, before Divine Victoria had declared the events in Kirkwall “tragic but necessary”. With a full pardon and the Circles abolished Anders had, for the first time in his life, been completely free. It was still hard to believe it had happened.

Yet here he was, a free mage, no longer an apostate but legally free, with his legally free spouse, traveling down an old Ferelden dirt road because someone had need of his magic and had the ability to actually ask for it. He had dreamed that this day would eventually come, but had never thought to see it with his own eyes.

Eyeing a signpost as they neared Liesl’s village, Anders furrowed his brow, trying to figure out why it looked familiar. He was fairly certain he and Hawke hadn’t traveled this way since returning to Ferelden. The village itself wasn’t too much different from their own, a few shops and houses and one or two farms on the outskirts; it was to one of these farms that they were heading, Liesl directing them down the road to the gate in the fence that kept their druffalo from escaping.

Approaching it, Anders was once again struck with a pang of familiarity that he couldn’t place. Slightly confused, he glanced around as they dismounted and followed Liesl through the gate, shaking his head when Hawke cast him a concerned look.

“…you ever feel like you’ve been somewhere before when you know you couldn’t have?” He asked in a quiet voice, taking Leanne’s hand when she began tugging at his shirt.

“Like déjà vu?” Hawke raised a brow, looking around at the place. It was a typical Ferelden farm, no different than any of the others they’d ever seen. Brown, muddy, with the fragrant smell of manure on the wind.

“I guess, yeah…”

Liesl led them to a house that looked fairly new, constructed only in the last several years, explaining that it was where she and her husband lived with their children. Hawke and Anders could stay there, and she could look after Leanne for them if necessary. They briefly met her husband and three children, one of whom was Leanne’s age and instantly wanted to play with the quiet girl; nothing felt odd inside of the house, and by the time Liesl asked Anders to come with her to the main house where her father was he had all but forgotten his earlier thoughts.

As they walked down the path Anders’ eyes fell upon a large, dead tree in the field, and that odd feeling of familiarity hit him so hard he stopped where he was and just stared at it. Barely thinking, he slowly walked over and rested a hand on the rough bark of the trunk, feeling the texture of it against his skin and furrowing his brow slightly.

An utterly absurd thought passed through his head that the tree was too short—the lowest branches should have been higher, over his head. He should have been barely able to reach up and grab them, and yet instead they were just above eye level.

“Serah, are you coming…?” Liesl had turned and was looking rather perplexed at the man. Nodding Anders was just about to turn around when something towards the base of the tree trunk caught his eye, and he stopped again and stared down through the grass that was growing unchecked around the trunk. There were a few rough straight lines, not natural, as if someone had carved a word into the bark.

Looking at them from where he stood, a strange feeling came over Anders, and he slowly knelt and moved away the grass to get a better look. It was crude and barely legible, but he could just make out a name.

Air rushed from his lungs. All at once Anders pushed himself up and away from the tree as quickly as he could, stumbling and barely stopping himself from falling on his ass. His chest was too tight suddenly, his eyes wide as he looked around at the farm again, seeing it all at once from an entirely new perspective.

He… knew that tree. He had played on it once, hung from its branches, climbed it and fallen and cried until his mother had come out to see what the fuss was. It hadn’t been dead then, there had been leaves on the branches that he’d slept under in the summer and played in when they fell in the autumn.

And there had been one day when he’d stolen his mother’s kitchen knife and carved his name in the trunk in blocky, rough letters. The name he no longer used, the name he’d left behind when his entire life had been uprooted at the age of twelve. The name that was still there, nearly buried in weeds at the base of a dead tree.

“Serah, are you alright…?”

Anders looked at Liesl, who was standing down the road looking rather concerned. Behind her he could see the old house that they were headed for, and his chest clenched tightly again over what he might find inside.

“I’m…” He struggled to speak, the very act of forming words a hugely difficult thing while his mind and heart were both spinning deliriously fast. Anders swallowed and tried again. “I—I’m sorry. Let’s keep going.”

He forced himself to walked to catch up with her, and she gave him an odd look, continuing regardless.

“…how long has that tree been dead?” Anders asked, his voice nearly a whisper as though he was afraid of what words might come out of his mouth. Liesl looked at him oddly again.

“It’s been dead as long as I can remember. My father always wanted to chop it down, but my mother wouldn’t let him. Had some kind of sentimental attachment to it for some reason.”

A mother who had clung onto a dead tree with his name carved into it.

For the first time, Anders looked at Liesl, _really_ looked at her, and he felt as though his heart was going to beat out of his chest. Her straight blonde hair, with just a hint of reddish brown to it. Her fair skin with a smattering of freckles across her cheeks. And her eyes, a deep, golden brown when she looked in his direction.

A mother who had cried and held him so tightly he could barely breathe before the Templars had torn him from her arms.

“…Liesl…” Anders spoke again carefully, stopping as they reached the front steps of the house. He stared at them, willing himself to step up, to go to the door, but his legs were trembling and would not obey. “…how old are you?”

She stopped and stared at him again as if he was mad. Anders couldn’t blame her. He felt half mad at the moment.

“I… I don’t understand why that’s relevant?” Liesl answered cautiously. “Is there something wrong? You’re acting very strangely.”

“Please, just…” Clenching his fists Anders forced his breaths to remain steady, carefully inhaling and exhaling in a controlled rhythm. “I need to know how old you are.”

Her brow furrowed in utter confusion, but she finally replied, “I’m thirty-four. I was born in 9:14 Dragon.”

Anders let out another breath and struggled for the next.

Thirteen years his junior. He had been twelve years old when the Templars came for him.

When he finally stepped forward to climb the steps up to the front door, it was not entirely according to his own thoughts. The force that walked him to the door, that opened it and led him inside was something else inside of him, something that had begun stirring as all the pieces of the puzzle fit together and began to form a coherent picture.

“Serah, wait…”

Anders stepped in front of Liesl, walking through a sitting room that was a near even mixture of broken familiarity and the complete unknown. Here, a chair he remembered sitting in with his mother as she taught him his letters. There, a table that was only a few years old.

The thought of where the bedroom was located barely passed through his head before Anders was walking in that direction, his stride wide and determined even as his emotions stormed inside of him. Pushing open the door he was met instantly with the smell of sickness and human waste, and when his eyes fell upon the figure lying in bed, for one second, the entire world stopped moving.

The man lying there was old and gaunt and deathly ill. He was also, without a doubt, Anders’ father.

Something shattered inside of him. Buckling, Anders clutched at the doorframe, his face scrunched in a silent scream as he turned and fled back out of the house, stumbling and tripping and knocking over furniture. He nearly fell down the stairs, managing to make it several yards before he fell to his knees, and the scream that tore its way out of his throat this time was not his own voice. Static rippled across his body as his skin burst with spirit fire, and Justice screamed again, digging furrows in the dirt with his fingers.

“Anders!!” Someone was calling his name in the distance. “ _Justice!!_ ”

There was a sound of boots pounding across the ground, growing louder as they approached before Hawke slid to his knees in front of him, grabbing onto his shoulders and looking at his face with an expression that was a mixture of terror and fury.

“Justice, what’s wrong?!” Looking into the pool of light in his husband’s eyes, Hawke only regretted not grabbing his staff when he ran out of the house after hearing the first scream. It had been so long since Justice had manifested like this—through pain and anguish rather than the balanced bond he and Anders had spent so long working with each other on after Kirkwall—and Hawke didn’t know what had set it off, but he was ready to fight whatever needed to be fought.

“Justice, _talk to me!!_ ”

“The man in that house _hurt_ Anders.” Justice finally spoke, anger radiating through him. He ripped his hands out of the ground and grabbed Hawke’s shoulders, holding on almost as if for support as he declared, “ _He will NEVER hurt him again._ ”

“Who, who hurt Anders??” Hawke asked, holding onto the spirit as he clung to him. From over Justice’s shoulder he could see Liesl standing on the porch, eyes wide with terror at the sight before her.

“Who’s in the house?!” Hawke shouted, startling her.

“J-just my father!” She stammered. She sounded near tears. “Maker, is that… what’s happening to him??”

Hawke ignored her, turning his focus back to the spirit in his arms. “Justice, I need you focus and tell me what’s going on, or you need to let Anders tell me. I can’t help if I don’t understand.”

“ _He brought the Templars down on him._ ” The grip on Hawke’s shoulders was almost crushing but he withstood it, gritting his teeth as Justice voiced the pain that had brought him to the surface. “He was supposed to _protect him_ , but he called him sinful, and when the Templars came he let them clap him in irons and _lock him away!_ ”

The color drained from Hawke’s face as the implications of that set in. “Justice…” His voice came out hoarse, “…are you saying the man inside the house is… is Anders’ father?”

Justice’s eyes were locked onto his, and Hawke could feel waves of spirit energy washing over him from their proximity. “ _He will **never** hurt him again!_ ”

“Okay, Justice, hon…” Hawke tugged him closer so their foreheads were touching, moving one hand to cup his jaw and feeling a tingle of static at the touch. “There are no more Templars. The Circle is gone, we saw to that. The man inside is ill, he’s dying, remember? There is _nothing_ he can do to Anders anymore, and even if he tried I would never allow it.

“Now I know Anders is hurting, and you want to defend him, but I need you to let me talk to him. Please, Justice. _No one_ is going to hurt Anders again, not while I draw breath, _I swear it_.”

For a moment it seemed like nothing was going to change, and then the spirit energy began to dissipate. When the last of the glow drained from Anders’ eyes he sagged and Hawke caught him, pulling him into his arms as a sob shook through his form.

“Oh Anders, sweetheart…” The body tucked against his was shaking and Hawke squeezed him tighter, feeling the wetness against his skin when Anders tucked his face against his neck. “Shh, I’ve got you.”

“Is someone going to tell us what in the Maker’s name is going on?!”

Hawke looked up to see Liesl’s husband standing beside her. He vaguely recalled the man running out of the other house with him when the shouting had begun. Looking towards the woman Hawke pressed his lips together for a moment, debating what to say while rubbing a hand soothingly up and down Anders’ back.

“…the man inside is his father.” Hawke finally said. “Which means, I suppose… you’re his sister.”

 

* * *

 

The barn was standing right where Anders remembered it. It was thirty-some years old by now, but of course they’d had to rebuild it. They would have had to after that night.

Hawke had taken Liesl and her husband away from him to explain the situation, for which Anders was eternally grateful. Walking slowly through the property it was hard not to be overwhelmed—this had been his _home_ , for twelve years of his life he had grown and played and been as free as any little boy should be. He used to climb to the upper level of the barn and fall into the haystacks, giggling and laughing and running red faced to do it again while his father shouted at him to be careful and his mother mourned over every hole in his clothes.

Anders had tried to come back to this place after they’d taken him away to Kinloch Hold. He used to think that if only he could go back and explain what had happened to his father he wouldn’t have been so afraid of him, wouldn’t have sent him away again. It had been an accident, he never meant to start the fire. If he could only talk to him one more time and try to explain…

But Anders had grown up, and he knew better now. While his mother may have accepted him back with open arms, the man who gave his son away to the Templars would not have been swayed. He didn’t care that it was his son, didn’t see him for who he was anymore. He only saw a mage. A sin upon the Maker.

_“What did you do, boy?! What did you do to make the Maker punish you with magic??”_

Anders didn’t know if his mother had ever tried to write to him. If she had, he’d never received any of her letters. All he knew is that Liesl had no idea she’d ever had a brother—they’d had her a year after he was taken, and whether it had already been planned or an attempt to replace the son they’d lost, Anders didn’t know. But she had been raised an only child, and unlike him, she had never been cursed with magic.

An old grey cat padded out of the barn to greet him, and Anders crouched down to pet it, a watery smile on his face.

What should he do?

The thought caused a stir within him, and he stopped to rub circles soothingly over the pulse point in his wrist. It was one of the few ways he’d learned to balance himself over the years when the part of him that was Justice was unsettled. There was nothing Justice could do to help him with this, no one to fight, no one to rescue. The child who’d needed rescuing all those years ago had simply grown into a broken and traumatized man.

Anders hadn’t yet been able to bring himself to go back into the house where the man—his father—was dying. He was a healer, he had a duty to help others in any way that he was capable, even moreso now than ever before. Divine Victoria had made him a free man. What use was that freedom if he didn’t spend it using his Maker-given gifts for the good of the people around him?

And yet.

_“What did you do, boy?!”_

“My Creator, judge me whole…” Anders whispered almost too quietly to hear, his thumb pressed firmly into his wrist.

“ _What did you do to make the Maker punish you with magic??”_

“…find me well within Your grace…”

He made out the sound of someone walking towards him from the house, and was about to turn around when there was a rustling of fabric and a cry of “Da…!” directly behind him just seconds before a tiny body collided with his, small arms wrapping around him.

“Hey sweetie…!” Turning Anders smiled warmly down at Leanne, who was grinning up at him. He pulled her into his arms and gave her a squeeze and a kiss on the cheek before he looked over to where Hawke stood a few feet away.

“How are you doing…?” He asked, a small smile tugging at his lips as the grey cat butted its head against Anders’ knee for attention.

“Right this second? Pretty good.” Leanne reached for the cat, giggling when it rubbed its head against her hand. They both watched her for a moment as she began rubbing its ears with both hands.

“So…” Hawke knelt down beside him, tugging his robes up around his trousers so he could sit in the grass. “They ah, obviously still want you to help him. But they know they can’t force you to.”

Anders scoffed, shaking his head and staring off at the side of the barn again. “We’re talking about whether or not a man lives or dies.”

“We’re talking about whether or not your father, a man who gave you to the Circle and the brutality of the Templars as a child, and who is very old, dies now or a few years from now when his ages catches up to him again.” Hawke replied softly. “It’s your choice, Anders. I won’t make it for you, but I will support whatever you decide.”

Anders sighed and didn’t speak again, watching Leanne play with the cat as the sun began to dip down on the horizon.

In the end, he supposed he always knew what he was going to do. Climbing to his feet Anders dusted himself off, casting another smile down at Hawke and their daughter before he turned to walk back to the house.

The same sight greeted him when he walked through the door again, though he noticed a table he had knocked over when he’d rushed out earlier was still on its side. He lingered this time, examining the familiar hearth, trailing his fingers along the back of an old living chair, the faded memory of his mother sitting there by the fire knitting coming back bit by bit. Anders had long since accepted that he would never see his family again, but if he could have had the chance to see anyone, he would have liked for it to have been her.

Finally he steeled himself, rubbing his wrist as he felt another stir of protective outrage deep within him when he walked back to the bedroom. The door was ajar, and Liesl was sitting next to the bed holding the man’s hand. His father’s hand. _Their_ father’s hand.

“He was always a good father to me.” She said, not turning around as Anders hovered in the doorway. “Strict, yes, and unbendingly faithful to the Maker. He still works the farm, or at least, he was before this, and he’s a wonderful grandfather to my children.”

Slowly Anders walked to her side and stared down at him. He opened his mouth but no words came at first; closing it he drew a calming breath before he softly asked, “What happened to Mother…?”

“She died of the wasting disease, about five years ago.” Liesl told him. “We buried her out on the edge of the field where the Andraste’s grace grows.”

“Her favorite flower.” Anders smiled slightly. “Can you… show me where before I go?”

Liesl nodded, and her grip on the man’s hand tightened.

“Please…” Her voice was a broken whisper. “What he did, however he feels about magic… he’s loved by my family, by my children. Please don’t make them suffer.”

“Liesl…” Anders placed a hand on her shoulder and she finally looked up at him, her own golden brown eyes shining with tears. “The Maker gave me this gift for a reason. If I don’t use it to help whoever I can, then I’ve failed Him.”

He let her go and closed his eyes, raising his hands over the prone, frail body in the bed, and the warm glow of spirit energy washed through the room.

 

* * *

 

“Are you still alright?”

Standing before the unmarked grave on the edge of the property, Anders closed his eyes, taking in the familiar scent of Andraste’s grace that was growing all around it. He was holding the strip of bark he’d cut off of the old tree from the yard that bore the scratched, blocky carving of his old name; he turned it around in his hands, feeling the rough texture and the hard edges from where the knife had cut through.

Hawke was at his side, his shoulders shifting as Leanne tugged on his hand and held up the flower she’d been allowed to pick. “Ma…! Drast-ey grace…!”

“I will be.” Anders answered after a long pause. He’d stayed up half of the night healing the man who was his father, and when his eyes had opened that morning there had been no recognition in them. It was fine, Anders had told Liesl, he preferred it that way. He had his own family now. He had no need of the remnants of one he’d thought was long gone.

He held up the piece of bark, and Hawke squinted at it for a minute, mouth hanging open adorably as he tried to read the lettering.

“What alphabet is that?” He finally asked, and Anders chuckled.

“It’s Ander. I don’t remember half of what I used to know of it.” Crouching he set the bark down over the patch of earth where his mother was buried, setting his hand on the dirt for a moment’s pause before he stood again and turned away.

“Let’s go home, love.”

As they walked back to where they’d left their horses a hand slipped into Anders’, and he squeezed it thankfully. On the other side of the field he could see Liesl staring out at them, the man who was their father standing beside her (he’d told him not to get out of bed for a few more days, the stubborn man); raising a hand Anders waved, and she waved back before they walked out of sight and started on the journey back to the home the two of them had built together.

It was the only home Anders needed.


End file.
